Sun Spots
by KrystinaSky
Summary: They were proof that the dark was only temporary, that in a few hours the sun would be back to dance across her face, leaving golden footprints in its wake that would stay there, with her and with him when the night closed in again. T for safety, READ AN


I've been playing with this idea for awhile and finally decided to write it. It's way more angsty than I thought it would be, way more. There's a vague reference to a child pornography ring, nothing graphic, but it is sad. This is the second Batman fanfiction I've written and, if you read the last one, you know there was a reference to child abuse in that one too, and I feel like I need to explain why this issue keeps cropping up in my stories.

Basically, I can think of nothing lower in humanity than hurting a child, nothing darker than taking a child's innocence, and Gotham is supposed to be dark, really dark, a picture of humanity at it's lowest. It's what makes Batman's struggle so powerful and iconic, because, depsite the all consuming darkness, he is still there, fighting for what is still good in Gotham and in humanity itself.

So yeah, that's it in a nutshell. I hope I didn't scare anyone off, I promise, there's nothing graphic here, it's just sad, but not hopeless.

Barbara had always complained about her freckles.

The third time she'd been over to baby-sit him they'd been sitting on the couch watching a movie he couldn't even remember on the big screen that had since been replaced by a bigger screen. The female lead had been a redhead, and Barbara had spent half the movie glowering at the screen and devouring huge handfuls of popcorn with a savagery that had completely distracted the young Dick from the movie. Finally, half way through she had growled, "That woman's hair is dyed." Dick had sat forward squinting at the screen, tilting his head this way and that, then sat back in defeat.

"How come?" He'd asked.

"Because," Barbara had declared, "her skin is too perfect."

"Ummmm…."

"She doesn't have any freckles." Barbara had explained.

"Right" Dick had said, but he still hadn't gotten it. He still didn't get it.

They were sitting on a rooftop, silent for once, because the world was an ugly place tonight, and no amount of light banter or corny jokes could overcome the image of a six year old with no innocence in her eyes, her face painted like a doll and her skinny arms locked protectively around the shoulders of a four year old who shook like a leaf at the sight of them. They'd been in a basement with seven others.

It was nights like these, crimes like these, that made Dick long for Penguin's arm smugglers or Poison Ivy's straightforward, murderous insanity. It was better than this, better than having to look into the depraved eyes of those men. Touching them even to hit them made his skin crawl, looking into their eyes made him feel dirty.

The night was dark, never ending, one nightmare after another. Not even the moon had bothered to come out tonight, no stars twinkled hopefully through the smog. He was glad Bruce wasn't here tonight, because tonight Dick couldn't be light or hope, tonight Dick was the lost one.

"Dicky, baby," gloved fingers fluttered against his face, swept his bangs back, feather light. She sighed, "Bruce shouldn't have left." If Bruce had been here he never would have let them near this case, Dick knew. For a kid who had been fighting crime since the age of nine, he was pretty sheltered. If Bruce had been home Dick and Barbara would probably be swinging around between alleys somewhere, laughing and joking and socking the occasional mugger. Or maybe Bruce would've left them home tonight, kept them as far from this case as he could and they'd be curled up on a couch with cookies and cocoa, Barbara running her fingers though his hair as he drifted off against her shoulder, never mind that he wasn't a kid anymore, it felt nice, it always had. Somehow though, the thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been, because if Bruce were home they'd be comfortable in their innocence and he'd be up here by himself, trying to convince the tears behind his eyes that the Batman was emotionless, like he always had.

"Why Babs?" Dick asked.

"I don't know hun." She murmured, leaning a little closer. Her breath against his ear made him shiver, shaking him a little from his state and he finally turned his head to her. She had leaned close, and their faces were so close that, if he leaned toward her just a bit they could bump noses like they had when he was 12 and had tried to kiss her that first time. She hadn't known it, she'd thought he was just being a "sweet kid" and she'd rubbed her nose against his, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd started developing hormones, and things weren't quite as innocent as she thought they were.

Tonight though, he just stayed there, his eye on her face, wishing she wasn't wearing that mask.

In the dim lighting they were just barely visible, he had to squint to see them; faint specks trickling out from under the edges of her mask, down over her cheekbones. They were sun spots, there in the dark, evidence of sunlight and hope in the midst of the night, where the darkness held total sway. They were proof that the dark was only temporary, that in a few hours the sun would be back to dance across her face, leaving golden footprints in its wake that would stay there, with her and with him when the night closed in again. There was a lump in Dick's throat and the sigh of relief that escaped him sounded a bit like a sob.

"Dicky?" She asked, brows furrowed a bit at the change, the hand behind his neck massaging a bit, an instinctual comforting motion that just made him want to kiss her more. Because she saved him, her and the sunlight on her face. She was his sunspot in the dark and someday, when he could convince her he really was all grown up he would kiss her, and he'd tell her. But for now she was close and warm and her breath was on his face, and he could see the sunlight, and it was enough.


End file.
